Confessions of a Living Wife
by sparklyscorpion
Summary: Christine consents to become Erik's bride in order to save Raoul from certain death. The following is an account of her time as a living wife in her own words. Dark and not fluffy.
1. Prologue

**Chapter 1: Prologue: Confession**

* * *

 _Author's Note: I don't own the characters, they were created by Gaston Leroux. I'm just borrowing them._

 _This is a dark story. It is not romantic or fluffy. If such things bother you, you should probably turn back now._

 _Each chapter was written quite quickly. Sometimes they ramble. Sometimes they reuse words in rapid succession. This is deliberate, given the nature of the tale. I wanted it to read as if Christine herself were speaking - sometimes hurried, sometimes slow and thoughtful - but always trying to give voice to her story. I hope you enjoy it. :)_

* * *

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been several months since my last confession, and I have many things that burden my heart. Please, allow me to tell you my story before saying a word – I don't seek your pity or comfort, Father, merely an ear that is willing to listen to me. I have not had anyone truly listen to me in a very long time, and I fear that if I don't say these words I will burst.

I grew up in Sweden, Father; perhaps you can tell by my accent. When my father lived I was always a child; he filled my head with fairytales and refused to allow his little girl to grow up, and even after he died I could still hear his voice ringing in my mind, telling me the dark stories of our homeland. The tale of the Angel of Music captured my interest the most, for I wished to be a singer and prayed fervently that this angel would bless me so I could fulfill my dreams.

Once upon a time, it seems very long ago now, I joined the chorus at the Opera Garnier, but I was nothing special and seemed destined to spend the rest of my years languishing in small roles. Then one day, Father, I heard a voice – not just any voice, please don't think me silly, but the voice of the Angel of Music, sent by my poor dead father. I believed the voice Father – perhaps you have heard your own fairytales, the story of the Opera Ghost – he did indeed exist, Father, although he was neither an angel nor a ghost. He was only a man…a very ugly, yet brilliant, man.

Father, I will spare you of the details of my courtship with a young nobleman, for perhaps you have heard those tales as well. Suffice to say that I met a childhood friend while at the Opera and fell in love. I adored him and would have given my life for that man, and he felt the same way about me. The man whom I falsely believed to be an angel did not approve, for he wished for me to love only him, and although I felt pity for him, for he was truly nothing more than an animal cowering in a basement, my heart belonged solely to my dear friend.

Raoul…

It hurts me to say his name even now Father, and yet I fear if I do not speak it aloud he will disappear and be nothing more than a foggy memory. Please do not mistake my intentions, Father, for I do not tell my story for myself alone…but also for my dear, dear Raoul. Please, allow me to continue.


	2. A Promise Secured

Father, I was a stupid, foolish girl only a few months ago. My fiancé had asked me to elope with him, even though he was well aware that his family would not approve of his decision to lower his standards by marrying me, but he loved me so much that he was willing to risk the certain wrath of his brother by giving me the de Changy name. He had nothing but honest intentions towards me, and yet I was so confused and, as I said before, felt such pity for the man who had been my tutor that I could not bear to break his heart by running away without any type of farewell. I convinced Raoul that it would be best for me to sing once more for the man whom I had once called an angel, and although he was not happy with my decision, he allowed me to make it.

When the night came I was Marguerite in Faust – I am sure you have heard of that opera, have you not Father? – and the voice that came from my mouth that evening was not my own. It was almost otherworldly and, I believed, a fitting tribute to the man who had molded it. It pained me at the time to cause him grief, and in my mind's eye I could see him sitting in the dining room across the lake, waiting for me to join him there in a place more a mausoleum than a home, but then I remembered how he had forced me to claw my nails into his dead face and I knew that, for both of our sakes, I must leave. What could ever develop between us? He longed for marriage and I only wished to be free of him. It sounds cruel of me, I am aware of that, but I have grown in the past few months and cannot pretend to feel things that I do not.

If I had the opportunity to do things differently, I would have fled with Raoul long before that night, as soon as he had proposed. I would have allowed him to whisk me away anywhere he desired, and even if we had been forced to live as paupers, I would have been happier than I am today. But as I said, I was a stupid, foolish brat, and I kept my eyes focused on the clouds instead of the earth.

When Marguerite was redeemed and stretched forth her arms to the heavens, seeking the embrace of angels, I too felt arms encircling me – although from the foul smell, the scent of death, I was quite aware that it was no angelic being that pushed a rag over my mouth and nose. I didn't even have time to scream…I only remember struggling for a few seconds, and then the world was dark. When I awoke, I was in his lair.

His name is Erik; I do not recall if I have told you this already.

I was upon the bed that I had slept in when he had kidnapped me once before, and when I had come to visit him – it was a condition of my release, for he had been determined not to ever let me go after I discovered what horror was concealed by his mask. Yes, he wore a mask, and beneath it was a face that I will never be able to forget so long as I live, for it was the face of Death himself. He was angrier than I had ever seen him before, even angrier than when I had ripped the scrap of silk from his features the first time, and he practically vibrated with rage, although his voice was deadly calm. "Why did you wish to leave Erik, when you know how much he loves you? Without so much as a goodbye? Cruel Christine."

I was so frightened that I could not even begin to form a sentence; I continued to lay upon the bed and trembled, his terrible features mere centimeters from my own, and I could smell his breath. Finally he sighed and walked away, leaving me to myself for several moments.

What happened next is truly a blur to me, although I know that it happened over the course of hours. I suppose that the drug he had given me dulled my senses, although I have heard that when a tragedy occurs the mind attempts to forget it as much as possible. He raged like a madman and then would fall at my feet like a broken child, begging for my hand in marriage. I do not know which I feared more, his fury or his tears, and eventually I could stomach neither any longer. I know that it is viewed as a sin, Father, but I could not consent to become his wife, and I tried to kill myself by beating my head against the walls of my room. At the time I thought that nothing could convince me to accept him as my husband, but that was also when Raoul was not in the torture chamber close to death.

Obviously I did not succeed in my endeavor to end my life, so much is the pity, and it seemed that my suicide attempt pulled loose the last strings of Erik's sanity. By this time Raoul had discovered Erik's house and, trying to save me from the monster, found himself in the torture chamber I just mentioned. Madness, that is all I can say to describe that time in my life – for I could hear Raoul in one ear and Erik in the other, like an angel and a devil perched atop my shoulders, but I could not discern which was which. Finally, Erik coldly informed me that I had to make a choice, that I could not waver in indecision forever, and I must either pick a small bronzed grasshopper, which would end all of our suffering, or the scorpion – which would only mean death for me, for I would be entombed with this insane creature for the rest of my days.

I nearly turned the grasshopper several times; you do not know how close I was, Father – and if I had chosen it, I have no doubt that you would have heard the explosion even here in your sanctuary. Raoul's voice warred with Erik's, but in the end I listened to my childhood friend. He did not care about his life, you see; he believed that he was a dead man either way, but he thought of the innocents who stood five stories above our heads when I could not. He promised me that if he still lived he would find me, no matter what happened, no matter what Erik did to me – he had heard our conversations and knew that Erik wished to make me his bride, Father – and that I mustn't allow hope to desert me. And if he died, Raoul said, he could die more peacefully knowing that the world still had me living in it. I clung to his words as a drowning man might to a piece of wood from a shipwreck.

I turned the scorpion.

The hiss of water rushing into the torture chamber was deafening – I had not known that would happen, but my shock, I am sure, was eclipsed by the absolute surprise written across Erik's wretched face. He had truly believed that I would choose the grasshopper and reduce the entire Opera to ruin rather than spend the remainder of my life with him. He asked me if I did indeed mean to become his living bride – I could barely hear his words over the water in the room next door, and the shouts of Raoul and Erik's Persian acquaintance, saying that the water was rising higher and higher and Erik must please stop the flow – and I considered his words.

Father, I went into this with Raoul's promise burning in my heart. I wished, above all, to save his life, for I loved him greatly and I also believed him to be a man of honor. He would come for me once he was freed; I truly thought this, no matter what ills the monster committed against me. Besides, as I have often told you, I was a stupid, foolish girl and had no idea what marriage really meant. He had spoken of a lavish ceremony at the Madeleine, days spent in a real house with excursions to the country on the weekends, and a mask that would make him look like any other ordinary man. I didn't know then that he had meant very little of what he had said to me, nor did I know…I didn't know.

I nodded that I would become his living wife, not understanding what it meant, and when he fell to my feet with tears in the black sockets that served as his eyes I gritted my teeth. I could bear it…I _must_ bear it. It would only be for a short while, anyway – Raoul would come for me, if only I could win his freedom, and then we could live happily ever after with my time spent as Erik's bride only a small, dark memory.

Perhaps, with the benefit of hindsight, I should have turned the grasshopper after all. Death would have been quicker and much kinder. I do not seek your forgiveness, Father, for my thoughts, for they are the truth. Besides, I did not come here to tell you this, but what happened afterward.


	3. The Wedding Mass

_Thank you to all my reviewers and everyone reading this story! :)_

* * *

It is a terrible thing, Father, to know that you hold a man's life in your hands, and that any false move could bring its end. It is even worse when you love that man with the entirety of your heart.

Before Erik pulled Raoul from the torture chamber, he made me promise that I would speak neither to him nor the Persian man, and I swore upon my life, for I would have done anything to keep Raoul alive – yet I feared that my pledge had been in vain, for when Raoul was placed upon the floor, he was as pale as wax and did not move. It was only after Erik rolled him onto his side that he coughed up a great amount of water; the color began to return to his features, and I wanted to fall upon my knees and thank the heavens that he still lived. Instead, I remained as still as a statue, my hands aching with my desire to touch my poor Raoul, to put my palms against his chest and feel it rise and fall beneath me, and yet I knew that it would be disaster should I do any such thing.

Erik immediately took him away and left me alone for a while with the Persian man, who tried to speak with me. I remained silent, though, fearful that Erik would return and find me talking with him and kill Raoul in retaliation, and pretended to focus upon the book in my lap. The pages made no sense to me, and I supposed that it was in a foreign language; I only realized later that the book had been upside down the entire time and I had not known.

It was fortunate that I did not say a word to that man, for soon Erik crept into the parlor, catching us both unaware, and ordered me to my bedroom. I do not know how long I was there – time passes so strangely beneath the earth – but eventually the door was unlocked once more and Erik beckoned me to join him in the dining room. There a feast awaited me – chicken, fish, bread, cheeses of all varieties, wine – and he pulled out my chair for me as if he were a gentleman, declaring that he had fixed our engagement dinner.

I wished only to ask what he had done with Raoul, but I knew that this would displease him a great deal, so I attempted to nibble upon the food while he sat and watched me. I was unable to force down much and expected him to berate me for this, but he only chuckled to himself and said that it was not uncommon for a bride-to-be to be anticipating her wedding so much that she was reluctant to eat. He promised me that I would not have to wait long to become his wife; he only had to make the preparations and that I should leave everything to him, and soon we would be together forever.

I fought the urge to retch and instead recalled the way Raoul's warm lips had felt pressed against my own – my first and only kiss. I could not stop the tears that formed in my eyes, and Erik made a move to brush them away, but I recoiled from his touch.

"You have not asked about your young man," Erik said abruptly, rising from the table and towering over me. "He is locked away in the dungeon – security, you understand, since you are so fond of breaking your promises to Erik, deceitful little girl." And then he chuckled again – oh how terrible his laughter is Father, you cannot understand for you have not heard it yourself; it is the most wretched sound in the world – before dismissing me and telling me that it was time I slept, for he was going to write our wedding mass.

My entire life had changed and he expected me to sleep! Father, I don't think I closed my eyes once that night, for my heart was racing and the sound of the music coming from the other room was like that of a funeral, my own funeral. Every note he scribbled down on paper was another centimeter of dirt tossed upon my coffin. I trembled beneath the blankets that had once comforted me, when I had slept in that room before I had known the true extent of Erik's madness.

Father, once I had been an inconsequential girl, belonging to no one and nothing. Whatever I had done had not affected anyone else. I was not accustomed to this great burden that was upon my heart, knowing that my actions would either set the man I loved free or be the reason for his death. I was not sure what Erik wanted from me at that time, but in the darkness I vowed that whatever it was I would do it.

The next morning there was breakfast upon the dining room table, but Erik was still closeted away in the music room, and I could hear him working over the wedding mass. I prayed silently that he would never finish it, but he slaved over it for days. Most of the time he remembered to put food on the table in the mornings, although sometimes he did not; while my stomach growled in hunger, I thought of Raoul and hoped that he did not feel the same pains, that he was not cold or hungry or thirsty or wet, although I could only imagine that Erik, who claimed to love me and yet neglected my needs, would not take so much care with his prisoner.

I tried to keep myself occupied, for left alone only to ponder my thoughts was torture of the worst sort, but there were so few things to do in the house beneath the Opera. I tried to read a few books, but I had been born a plain girl and had had little schooling, and many of the books available to me were not written in a language I could understand anyway. Erik had taken away my scissors so I could not sew or embroider, and there was little else to keep my hands and mind focused on something other than the music that seeped from the music room like a thick fog to smother me.

Finally, after about a week, when I came to breakfast in the morning Erik was sitting at the table with a manuscript upon his lap. "This," he declared almost majestically, "is Erik's wedding gift to you."

It's a pity that his present to me wasn't the end of his Punjab lasso instead, Father.


	4. His Bride

I am certain that you have seen many weddings, Father, but never have you seen a wedding like the one that was held in the house beyond the underground lake. After presenting me with the wedding mass, Erik informed me that I would find my wedding dress waiting for me in the wardrobe in my room. I was to bathe, make all of my preparations, and then meet him in the music room once I was ready. He said this with the mirth of a child who is about to receive a new, coveted toy, even clapping his hands together in happiness.

I did as I was told – how could I do anything else, Father, there was no way of escaping this man – and drew the water for a bath, sinking into the tub and wishing I could find the courage to submerge my face and take a few deep breaths, but I had always been frightened of drowning and could not bring myself to do it. Instead I washed, certain that I was to be the sacrifice upon Erik's altar of madness, and my teeth chattered so loudly that I couldn't hear myself think, which was one of the few blessings of that day. Once I had dried my body, I dressed myself in the garment Erik had chosen for me – it was blue and white and very pretty, and it fit perfectly, just as everything he had purchased for me did. When he had first brought me to this room I had been flattered that he had paid such close attention to detail, but now it only made the cold lump inside my stomach grow.

Feeling like a doll, a mere plaything for Erik's twisted amusement, I braided my hair and pinched my cheeks to bring some color to them. At the time I believed that he would be taking me to the Madeleine, as he had said when Raoul had been in the torture chamber, and I knew that I must present myself perfectly to make this charade even remotely believable to outside eyes. I would not scream or give him away, Father, for I knew that it would seal Raoul's death warrant if I did anything that could save me from this fate.

When I walked into the music room he was waiting for me, dressed in a formal suit that was wrinkled and had obviously seen better days, and he wore a black silk mask to hide his face from me. He was rocking nervously, his hands behind his back, and for a moment I almost felt sorry for him. Perhaps he would be kind to me as a husband – perhaps my fear of him was not completely rational. I recalled the times I had spent in his home before all of this, times when we had lost ourselves in the beautiful music those skeletal fingers could coax from the keys of the organ, and sometimes the strings of his violin – and how he had fallen at my feet at other times, with tears leaking from his eye sockets, and how I had pitied him then. Once upon a time he had been my Angel, my lone companion in cold and impersonal Paris, perhaps this…well, I had no hopes that we could have a _true_ marriage, Father, but I was hopeful that we could have some sort of understanding.

This was, of course, before I realized that his madness had completely overwhelmed him.

He gestured for me to sit upon the sofa. "Listen to Erik and Christine's wedding mass," he declared with a small bow. I wanted to question him, to ask him when we would depart for the Madeleine, but then he began to play, those terrible melodies that had haunted my living hours for the past week, but they did not sound so hideous when sewn together with Erik's skilled hands. The music was both beautiful and macabre, and I was lost in its spell. I rested upon the couch, the worries that had plagued me for so many days draining away to be replaced with a vague sense of well-being. It was almost as if I had left my body, Father, if you can understand such a thing.

I do not know how long he played, Father; it seemed like both hours and yet minutes, although I suspect it was the former. It was Erik's doomed love letter to me, and I accepted it…I didn't even think about Raoul, didn't consider the dreadful event that would surely happen that evening once the music ended…I merely sat there, as calm and still as a statue. I cannot explain it. His music had always had that effect on me, you see…

Eventually the music did stop, and I could not recall a note of it; my eyes focused upon Erik seated at the organ bench, taking great gulps of air with his back still to me. He said nothing at all for many minutes, until his trembling limbs were once again calm and his breathing had returned to normal. He then rose from the bench and stretched his hand towards me, silently beckoning for me to stand beside him, and I did so. "Will you have Erik for your husband, Christine?" he asked, his voice hoarse and strange to my ears, and although I do not remember doing so, I must have said yes or nodded or made some other gesture, for he seemed pleased, slipped the gold ring upon my finger that I had lost upon the rooftop, and stated that he took me for his bride before removing his mask.

I stared at him, that horrible death's head that he had been cursed with for all of his life, and although I could see those lips – if you could call them that, those twin strips of dry cracked flesh – moving, I could not discern what he was saying. He brushed my face with his thumb, and it was only then that I realized that I must be crying, although I was completely unaware of it. "Will you not kiss your husband?" he asked, almost timidly, and he lowered himself to his knees once more, his hideous fingers clawing at the hem of my dress.

I could not do it Father; I could not even do it for Raoul – to press my lips against that animated corpse! I couldn't! _I couldn't_! I turned from him and tried to run, but he still held the edge of my dress, and I could hear the beautiful fabric tear. He dropped it as if the material had burned him, and there were tears upon his cheeks as well, Father, but I could not comfort him or show him the least sign of affection. I backed up against the wall and trembled, waiting for him to rage at me, but he only unsteadily rose to his feet and told me in a voice as dead as his features that there would be no ceremony at the Madeleine after all, for he was very tired – he had hardly slept since he had been devoting all of his time to the wedding mass – and now he must take leave of his wife.

He left me alone in the music room and shut the door to his personal room behind him, and I sank to the floor. He had not dragged me into my bedroom and done whatever things husbands did to their wives – I was born a good girl, you understand, and I had remained one even at the Opera; I had only the simplest idea of what happened between men and women – and the tears that blurred my vision now were ones of relief, not terror.

Those tears would return later.

He had left half a loaf of bread upon the table for me, along with a bit of fruit, and I devoured the meager offering with the zest of one who had faced certain death and had yet lived in spite of the odds. When I retired to my own bedroom that evening I locked the door, even though I knew that Erik had a key and could let himself into my chambers at any time, and pushed a chair against the door for further security. He did not even attempt to enter my room that evening, Father, and I was well aware that husbands had certain rights with wives, although I was not sure what those rights entailed. My only comfort was knowing that the little wedding ceremony that had occurred in the music room was in no way binding in the eyes of God.

I would still be free when Raoul returned to me, so I told myself – and foolish girl that I was, I thought perhaps that Erik would be satisfied with this play arrangement, that this was all he wanted from me. I gave him too little credit; I realize it now, for he was far trickier than I could have even imagined that night.


	5. Her Husband

The next morning Erik was waiting for me in the dining room as if the wedding had never occurred – gone was the pitiful man who had begged his wife for a kiss; he had been replaced with the Erik that I had grown accustomed to since the marriage ultimatum had been delivered. He asked me how I had slept as he helped me in my chair, and his thumb brushed over the warm metal surface of the golden band that occupied my ring finger before he disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a small bowl of fruit. He watched me as I ate my breakfast, the last peaceful meal I would ever have in that dreadful place, although I didn't know it then. No, at that time I felt like I had conquered my fears entirely and had nothing more to worry about.

As I have told you many times, Father, I was a foolish girl.

After I had finished eating, he placed a wooden box onto the table and piled its contents onto the table. It contained a scratchy woolen blanket, I remember that the most, along with some tins of food and water, a loaf of bread, and some candles with matches. "How long would these supplies last you?" he asked, his fingers tapping impatiently on his chair as I eyed the small stack of items that occupied the table.

"A few days, I suppose. Why, Erik, are you leaving me here alone while you take a trip?" I couldn't keep the small quiver of panic from my voice.

"You cannot rid yourself of your new husband so soon, my dear wife." Erik chuckled nastily, and I imagined that hideous mouth of his curving into a ghastly smile, although thankfully I could not see it. "How many are 'a few days?' You will have to more specific than that, girl."

His tone frightened me – it reminded me of the time when he had mockingly referred to himself as a veritable Don Juan, and I could not recall those days as his captive with anything less than terror. "Five." I blurted out the number without any real thought or calculation, merely wishing for him to explain himself.

"Truly? Erik supposed that it would last twice that, with careful preservation." He began to place the items into the wooden box again, humming a slight tune beneath his breath. I recognized it as being from our wedding mass.

It was at this time that a cold knot of fear formed in my heart.

"Why do you ask? What is the meaning behind this?" My voice was trembling, although I was trying to appear calm, but I should have known better than to try to trick him.

"Nine days ago, Erik deposited your young man in the dungeon with a box of supplies identical to this one. Erik has not visited him since." Those long skeletal fingers wrapped around the edge of the box as he leaned very close to me, and I bit my lip as hard as I could to suppress my desire to shriek. "If he has not been foolish, he may still be alive…"

"Erik, you must visit him today and give him more food and water." I buried my hands in my skirts and twisted them madly.

"Why must Erik go to the dungeon? It is cold and dark there, and he does not want to leave his new bride alone. Erik has promised to keep her entertained." And with that he retreated to the corner of the room and withdrew a deck of cards from his pocket. "Erik has not had the opportunity to show you his card tricks, has he Christine? He knows many of them; he has learned from all of the greatest magicians in the world!"

"Erik, please, he will die without water. _Please_ , you must go to him today." The words tumbled from my lips just as those wretched cards tumbled across his fingers.

"Why should Erik care if he dies? What use is your young man to anyone now? You have a husband, you don't need a suitor, and Erik never cared for the impertinent boy." He took a few steps towards the table and spread the cards for me to see. "Pick one, any of your choosing."

I placed my finger upon the seven of clubs to amuse him, anything to keep him in a good humor. "Erik, please…he will die!"

"Everyone dies," he replied simply as he scooped up the cards once more, shuffling them madly. "What does it matter when or how?" He spread the cards before me again and told me to choose the one that I had picked earlier; I searched but could not find it.

"It's not here," I mumbled, my mind confused by this strange conversation.

"Of course it is there – right before you! Can you not see it?" He tilted his head and laughed, oh how he laughed, that horrible sound still haunts me if I close my eyes…

He reached across the table and quickly withdrew a card from behind my ear, his masked face mere centimeters from mine, and I could smell his foul breath. "Erik desires a living bride, Christine – _a living wife_. You have said the words, but you have not completed the bargain quite yet." He slammed the seven of clubs onto the table and stalked away, crossing his long arms and staring at the wall. "A life for a life, Christine – yours for his, that is the agreement."

"I don't understand what you want me to do," I confessed, and it was true Father, I didn't understand!

"Are you stupid? Must Erik explain everything to you?" He sighed then, exasperated with my naivete, and pivoted around to glare at me. "A marriage is not binding until it is consummated."

Father, I swear that I thought that I would faint dead away. Had I not spent the last evening convincing myself that Erik did not care about such earthly desires? And now here he stood, telling me in no uncertain terms that he was wanted what any normal man would…oh Father, I thought that I would die! I certainly wished that I would! I could not bear to kiss him, not even upon the forehead – how could I bear what he was asking, _demanding_ , of me?

He must have seen my shock, for he was at my feet at an instant, pressing his hands against my own, and we trembled together. "Can you not understand, Christine? Erik has been so lonely his entire life, he has no one to love him, no one to care for him, not even his mother, and yet he has desires like any other man. He has spent decades alone, without a touch at all. Is he truly asking for too much from his wife? He loves her desperately and would be so gentle with her, he promises that he would be, he doesn't want to hurt his bride." His voice was like an annoying fly buzzing in my ear, I didn't know how I could stomach listening to him whine for a moment more, and a place behind my right eye began to throb.

"Erik will make it easy for you, so very easy. He will make you a special potion, another wedding present for you Christine, for he adores you, and he will put it in a glass of wine for you tonight. If you drink the entire glass you will fall asleep, Erik promises, and you will wake the next morning without any knowledge of what occurred the evening before. Erik promises, he promises, oh Christine, please be kind to your husband, to your poor Erik, who wishes to give you the world and asks for so little in return, just what other husbands receive from their wives. Erik just wants to be like everyone else."

I began to cry then, but instead of moving him to pity, he seemed to be infuriated by my tears. "Erik will leave the glass of wine for you this evening. If you drink it, in the morning he will take supplies that will last your young man for three days. If you do not drink it, well, Erik will not take any supplies to your little chap until you do." And with those fateful words he stormed out of the dining room and locked himself into the music room, where he spent several hours laboring over something that sounded like the souls of the damned screaming from the flames of hell itself.

I rushed into my bedroom and slammed the door behind me, throwing myself onto the bed and sobbing into my pillows. Eventually I realized that this would do no one a bit of good and I sat up, rubbing my swollen eyes. I was no longer a little girl, and I could not depend upon anyone but myself – I had to make a decision and quickly, before Raoul died…if he was not already dead.

Raoul…

If I am completely honest, Father, and I intend to be with you, I cannot say with certainty which I loved more – Raoul, or the promise of freedom he represented to me. He was the only one who knew where I was, and therefore the only one would could rescue me – of course the Persian man knew as well, but how could I trust a friend of Erik's? Besides, he could be dead or locked away elsewhere; I could not rely upon him. There was only Raoul, and I knew that I had to make some sacrifices if I wanted to preserve any hope of escaping from Erik's clutches alive.

I took a nice, long bath and once again contemplated how easy it would be to slide beneath the surface of the water, never to return, but I was still too afraid to do it. I imagined that hell was far more frightful than being Erik's bride, and so I dressed myself in a loose-fitting dress and combed my hair and pounded on the door of the music room with all of the courage of a soldier about to face battle, even if my knees were knocking together beneath my skirts.

The music came to an abrupt end, but it took him several minutes to unlock the door. He had removed his mask, and I stared at those wretched features, refusing to look away in terror, and eventually he stepped aside and allowed me to join him. There was a glass of wine waiting for me upon the small end table next to the sofa where I had listened to him play our wedding mass the day before, and without hesitation I drained the glass before sitting on the couch. When I looked at him his legs were shaking so badly I wondered how it was possible for him to stand.

He wandered back to the organ and began to play again, except this time the music was light and pleasing, and I closed my eyes and felt myself drifting away into the foggy recesses of the drug that Erik had prepared for me. The next morning I awoke in my bed with the quilts drawn beneath my chin, alone and disoriented. When I arose my head spun and my knees were weak, and the only signs that Erik had joined me at all were the bloodstains upon the sheets and the dull ache between my legs.

When I went to breakfast that morning, the box of supplies was no longer upon the table, and I buried my face in my hands and wept.


	6. Survival

I sat at the dining table for a long time that day, Father, for Erik was gone, and I didn't know what else to do except to examine the flocked wallpaper that decorated the otherwise cheerless room. I never wanted to see him again, and yet I knew I must face him eventually, and I dreaded that with all of my being. What could I say to him? What would he say to me? I was completely mortified and couldn't stop the seemingly endless flow of tears.

I suppose it was afternoon when he returned to me – it was impossible to tell the time, Father, for the days and nights in the cellars were artificial and obeyed no sun or moon, only Erik – with his long skinny arms laden with packages. I had expected him to be as ashamed as I felt, but that was certainly not the case; he greeted me with joy in his voice and began to prattle about everything he had bought for his wife that day – fresh fish, a few pears even though they weren't in season just yet, a delicate handkerchief trimmed with the finest lace, and baskets upon baskets of flowers. He put those in every room, even the kitchen, and for days afterward the entire place smelled like a hothouse.

As I sat there numbly, watching him flit around the room putting away his purchases, I realized that whatever had occurred the night before must have made him gloriously happy. What had he done to me? I didn't even know then, Father, ignorant girl that I was, and the most fearsome scenario I could envision was him kissing me full on the lips, which was enough to make me want to scream. It was the not knowing that was the worst, Father; I learned that later, but at the time I thought he had done me some great service by incapacitating me on our wedding night.

Eventually he noticed that I was crying. and he knelt before me, trying to take my hands in his own, but I didn't want him touching me and I jerked away from him so forcefully that I nearly fell from the chair. I believed that my abrupt refusal would anger him, but it did not, for he remained upon his knees beside my chair and gazed at me with those black sockets. "Oh Christine, what is the matter? You are not ill, are you? Please tell your husband that you aren't ill; he couldn't bear to see you sick, he loves you so and only wishes for you to be happy and well."

His concern for me, real or not, was more terrible than his infrequent rages. Oh Father, forgive me; I was only a mere mortal woman and had been pushed to the brink of insanity too many times. I slid from my chair and rested my head upon his lap and sobbed against his knee, and I allowed those dead fingers to stroke my hair. Somehow I found comfort in the awkward embrace of the man who had been the cause of my misery; I can't explain it, and in my moment of weakness, I fear I only encouraged him to hope that I could see him as anything other than a monster.

My sorrow clearly dismayed him, and he babbled things that he probably hoped would soothe me, but a few meaningless words weren't going to cheer me. I had never felt more miserable in my life, not at that time at least, and I no longer even cared if Raoul lived or died – I didn't want to escape from Erik any longer, for there was no way to wash his memory from my mind, I knew that now, and my desire for freedom had been replaced with a desire for death. I probably said as much, although I don't remember it, for it felt as if Erik was reading my thoughts and trying to refute them.

Eventually I could cry no more, although I surely felt like it, and Erik asked if he could assist me to my feet. I gave him permission, but I hadn't the strength to support my own weight, and so Erik carried me to my bedroom, most likely with the intention of tucking me beneath the sheets and nothing more, but with what little energy I had left I fought him, for I believed that he was going to do so something wretched to me in that room. He then took me to the music room and placed me on the couch, fetching quilts and fluffing pillows for me, until I was quite comfortably settled, disappearing only briefly to prepare a bowl of soup for me, which I barely ate.

He was so very attentive Father, and his considerate behavior calmed me a great deal. How wonderful it was to not be subject to his cruel demands and frightening wrath! He tried his best to keep me entertained; he really was the most clever man you could hope to meet Father, and he told me fascinating tales of adventure, demonstrated his abilities as a ventriloquist, and he played for me – oh Father, the sweetest music human ears have ever heard, how it filled my dreams with its beauty – and he did not touch me at all, except to help me to the bathroom or to give me something to eat.

For two days he remained by my side without asking for anything except an occasional smile in return for his antics, and gradually I felt my depression ease. On the third night he brought me a tray of food and upon it was a glass of wine, the exact kind that I had drunk on our wedding night, and when I stared at him he would not meet my gaze, choosing to slink away to the organ instead where he would not have to look at me.

I knew that the supplies I had won Raoul with my capitulation to Erik's demands would surely be running low by now – Erik had given him three days of rations, nothing more – but honestly, Father, I could not have cared less about Raoul's fate at that time. I had given up hope of ever being rescued by then; Erik would never let me go, and I was doomed to spend the rest of my life with him. I watched him as he played and considered my options, limited as they were. Erik had done his worst to me already; surely nothing else could surpass what had happened, and yet I was still alive. I recalled how happy he had been when he had returned from the market and how kind he had been to me afterwards – Father, forgive me, I was weak and could not bear his tantrums and fury at that time. I was far too fragile and longed only for more peaceful days.

I picked up the glass and held it to the light, but it looked no different to me than any other wine I had had in my life. I drank it eagerly, placing the empty cup onto the tray with more force than was necessary. Erik turned around to see what had interrupted him, his gaze focusing upon the glass and then my face – Father, I shall never forget the look he gave me at that time; it still makes my skin crawl – before returning to his music once again. I relaxed upon the sofa and closed my eyes, allowing his music to steal over me like a warm blanket, and when I opened my eyes again I was in my bedroom, wearing a nightgown I had not put on myself, and with the quilts tucked beneath my chin.

This was our game, Father, and we played it for countless weeks. He would try to keep me amused for a few days, no more than four at a time, and then one evening he would come with a glass of red wine for me to drink, which I never refused, and the next morning I would wake in my bedroom alone. He was so gentle with me during those days, Father, and I clung to his kindness with all of my might. Slowly I began to regain my strength, and I truly believed at that time that I could live my life like this, that it wasn't so terrible after all once I had grown accustomed to it.

Father, Erik had allowed me to pretend to be engaged to my Raoul for a month, before all of this had happened. Raoul was never satisfied with this arrangement; he was always seeking to make our attachment real and binding, and men are not so different from one another, even if their features are. Erik was no more satisfied with our sham of a marriage than Raoul had been with our play engagement, and eventually there would come a time when the little I offered him would no longer be enough. I was just too stupid to see that quite yet.


	7. Paper Birds

Erik was a very clever man, Father, and he had traveled extensively before he had settled in Paris permanently. One day he told me a story he had learned in the Orient, and as his words flew so did his bony fingers, and when the tale was completed he presented me with a little bird that he had folded out of paper. There was a slip of paper in its belly that, when pulled, would make the wings flutter, and I had never seen such a thing in my life. It fascinated me, that tiny paper bird, and when I asked if I could keep it, he seemed pleased.

When I woke the next morning feeling quite nauseous, for I had drunk a glass of wine the night before and its effects seemed to only grow stronger as the drug was used more often, there was an entire flock of paper birds in my bedroom, of all shapes and sizes and colors. Erik was waiting for me at breakfast, and he explained that in Japan, a powerful man presents his mistress with exotic birds in reward for her faithfulness to him, and if she is ever disloyal to him with another man, she releases the birds from their cages and allows them to fly away.

Perhaps to Erik those birds signified my fidelity, but to me those little paper creatures represented something else entirely, for when I looked at them I saw freedom. I had lost nearly all hope of ever finding myself in a better position than the one I now occupied, but now when I stared at the flock, I imagined them soaring in the sky, unfettered and without ties to the earth. Oh to be one of those birds, or its living cousin, and fly wherever the wind blew!

But there was no wind in the cellars of the Opera, Father, not even the faintest breeze, and I grew restless. Erik tried his very best to keep me diverted, but I had been born in the country, Father, and I needed sunlight just as much as I needed food to survive, perhaps even more. My skin grew so pale that I could see the tiny blue veins beneath it, and oftentimes I woke feeling dizzy and desperately unhappy, even without the wine, certain that only a few minutes of fresh air would cure my ills.

I was reluctant to ask Erik for anything, for I was fearful that I would send him into one of his terrifying rages, and I believed that I had already bargained away everything that might tempt him to grant my wish anyway; but as I listened to him play the organ one evening, I remembered how he had promised me a house aboveground and weekends spent in the country. I had kept my half of the bargain – I glanced at the glass of wine that rested upon the tray of food he had brought to me, which I had not yet touched – and although I didn't care a thing for an elaborate ceremony at the Madeleine – better that my shame be private as possible – I thought it was only fair that he at least give me some taste of the outside world every now and again. Had I not tried to be a good, pleasing wife?

With a boldness that I could not quite explain, I approached him and stood beside the bench, although by this time he was so engrossed in his music that he was completely unaware of my presence. I watched him for a while, for a moment feeling as if I had found a portal to the past and was once again the curious girl who wished to see what lay beneath his mask – oh Father, if only I had never torn it away from his wretched features, what might have been different! – and hesitantly I touched his shoulder. His fingers slid upon the keys, and the discordant sound resonated throughout the entire house.

"Erik," I asked in my prettiest voice, "won't you please let me go outside?"

He was silent as the grave, his fingers still resting upon the keys, and I began to wonder what madness had possessed me to even ask.

"Please," I whispered, "just for a few minutes. Please…I miss it so much, I miss it so much." He seemed unmoved by my request, and I fell to my knees, beyond pride now. "Haven't I done as you asked? And you promised me a house aboveground and days spent in the country, you promised…I'm afraid I may die if you keep me down here forever."

"Erik has lived here for many years and has not yet died." His voice was so cold and final, Father, which only fueled my desperation.

"But you go to the market several times a week! I haven't even been to the rooftop of the Opera since—" It was then that I realized my blunder, but I had already spoken the words into existence and could not retract them.

"Your young man asks to see the outside as well," he remarked in a deceptively neutral voice, and I felt my stomach lurch, for he had not mentioned Raoul in a long time. I felt extremely guilty then, Father, for I realized that I had not given much thought to my poor friend, and I wondered if I ever saw him again if I would have the courage to meet his gaze, for most of what I had done as Erik's wife had been for me, not him, and I knew that I was a selfish, greedy wretch.

"Erik has been meaning to consult his solicitor about finding a house aboveground, but he has had so little time – Erik's wife is very demanding of him, you understand, she cannot bear to see him leave her for even a moment." And then he laughed, that nasty, terrible chuckle that I always dreaded, and when he turned to stare at me I could see the yellow glint of his eyes. "If Erik buys a house in the outside world, Christine, he must have _a living bride_ to occupy it with him, not a child who trembles at the mere sight of her husband's face, what little face he has."

Father, my poor mind was already spinning; I was not feeling well, you understand, and I could never keep up with his silly tricks anyway. I wanted to snap at him, to order him to speak plainly with me, but he pinned me to the spot with his frightful gaze. and I couldn't.

"If Erik buys a house aboveground, he must let your little chap go," he continued, almost thoughtfully, and I wondered if perhaps he wasn't seriously considering this after all.

"What must I do?" I choked out the words somehow, although I feared what his answer would be.

"Do you think Erik likes making you drink wine so he can be your husband? He hates it, Christine, how he hates it, for he wishes that his bride could accept him without a drug to make her sleep. He has been so gentle with his wife, so very gentle, and he tries to make her happy. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for her." He was almost whining now; oh, how it infuriated me to hear him snivel like a little child, but I forced myself to pay attention to him. "Be Erik's living bride for a month, Christine, without the wine, and he will give you anything you want, anything at all, even to live outside, even to let her young chap go. Erik will do it, he swears." And then he touched my cheek, and although my first instinct was to pull away from him, I did not, and he was surprised.

We went for a small walk that evening, Father, just for a few blocks, since I was so drained and weak from lack of exercise, but it was a piece of heaven, I tell you – to feel the wind upon my cheeks with the moon shining down upon us – oh Father, they were perhaps the most beautiful moments I ever spent with Erik. It was only after we returned to the house beyond the lake that I remembered the price for those precious few minutes, but once given a taste of freedom, however small, I only desired it more. And so I drew a bath, once again contemplating how easy it would be to slide beneath its clear surface for an eternity but still too frightened to do it, and then dressed myself in a long nightgown, slid beneath the cool sheets of my bed, and waited for him to join me.

I did not have to wait long, Father. When I heard the door open I wished that I could curl up and die from fright and shame, and although I knew that I was no maiden, I still blushed like one when I saw his silhouette standing at the foot of my bed. He murmured something that I could not quite hear as he gently pried the blanket away from my grasp and stared at me, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness, before carefully pushing my nightgown above my hips. Oh Father, I was absolutely terrified and longed to scream, but I did not, choosing instead to bite my lip with so much force that it bled. My one small comfort was that Erik appeared to be just as nervous as I felt, for he fled the room and returned with the glass of wine he had prepared earlier for me.

"Take it," he rasped in a voice that I did not recognize as belonging to him, but before I had the chance to take the glass from his hand he placed it against my lips. I tried to drink it, but I choked and swallowed very little of the wine. It was apparently enough to affect me, though, for my limbs grew heavy and I found it difficult to move. He stroked my hair and whispered how beautiful his living bride was before he joined me…it was mercifully brief, Father, and I recall very little of it, only that when Erik collapsed atop me, sobbing like a small child, I turned my head and gazed at the rows of birds he had crafted for me, his tribute to my faithfulness, and I imagined dear Raoul opening the door to my bedroom and all of those creatures tumbling from the stand and taking flight.


	8. His Freedom

I cannot tell you for certain how long I remained in the cellars with Erik, Father – to me it only seemed like a few months, but it could have been closer to a year. Time was an elusive thing, and it meant little to me anyway, for what did it signify? What was a day, a week, a month, when you have been sentenced to a life of imprisonment?

I had supposed that my frequent nausea was the result of the drugged wine Erik prepared for me or perhaps my lack of fresh air, but I soon realized that neither of those things were responsible for my continuing illness; Erik no longer served me wine at all, and he took me on frequent walks, as one might a favored pet. I would lie in bed at night after Erik had departed with my hand upon my stomach, kneading the hard lump that grew there. I had been told that it was possible to catch diseases from men, Father, and naïve girl that I was, I imagined that Erik had given me some sort of infection, which I prayed would prove to be fatal. It would take some weeks for me to discover what truly ailed me, after my clothing grew tight and I realized that my monthlies no longer came, but for a while, Father, I was content to live in ignorance.

Once I grew accustomed to Erik's nighttime visits, I no longer feared them, for I had learned that it was better to be aware of what occurred than to be forced to guess the morning after. He was, for the most part, unfailingly gentle with me, and when he cried sometimes I did try to comfort him – please, Father, do not think me unfeeling or deliberately cruel – but those tears were fueled by demons that were far beyond my reach, and even soft words or caresses could not soothe him, and although I knew that he loved me desperately, I also realized how insignificant and powerless I was. I had nothing to offer him, nothing at all, and I regretted bitterly that he had fallen in love with someone who could not return his affection.

The month passed quickly until one day Erik announced that he would be freeing Raoul, and when he had informed me of this he had watched my face carefully, searching for any reaction on my part, but I had learned to wear a mask of my own. He was gone for several hours, Father, and I waited impatiently for his return, and when he did come back he seemed happier than I would have expected him to be under such circumstances.

"Your young man is free now," he declared as he collapsed into the chair across from me.

"Where did you take him?" I imagined my poor Raoul, alone and disoriented from his stay in the darkness of the dungeon, wandering the streets of Paris lost.

"I placed him in the care of his brother," Erik said, staring at me with such an earnest expression written upon his wretched features that I could not help but believe him, for I did not know then that he had drowned Philippe months ago. "The Count was very eager to see his young brother once again." And then he laughed – oh, that should have been a clue, Father, but I had upheld my half of the bargain and had expected him to be a gentleman, oh, foolish, _foolish_ creature I was! – and I smiled timidly in return. "Now Erik will begin to search for a suitable house for his bride."

You must think me the stupidest woman upon the face of the earth by now, Father, and yet at the time I fancied myself quite crafty! I reasoned that I must delay our departure from the cellars as long as possible, for once we left, Raoul would not know where to find me, and so I told Erik that the house must be very particular indeed, for I supposed that he would be unable to find such a place quickly, and by that time Raoul would have rescued me. I didn't even consider what would happen once Raoul arrived in the cellars or what Erik would do without me – I could not look past my circumstances, dismal as they were, and longed only to be free of them.

I was sure that Raoul would come for me within a week, Father, and so I carefully made notches with my fingernail into the soft bar of soap I used for my baths, waiting for him. When there were seven notches, I reasoned that he was surely fatigued a great deal from his experience and needed to rest and plan my escape; when there were fourteen notches, I told myself that perhaps Philippe was opposing his plot to save me – his brother had always been set against our relationship. Why should he be any different now, especially when Raoul had disappeared for so long?

The bar of soap was soon riddled with marks, and yet I remained in the cellars, Father, with Erik still coming to my bedroom at night. Once in a while he would add another paper bird to my collection, another testament to his bride's fidelity, and I would line them up in neat rows and stare at them for hours, waiting, always waiting.

I was not as skilled at hiding my disappointment as I supposed I was, for Erik sensed my melancholy and also seemed to understand its source. "Your little chap isn't coming for you," he said finally one night over dinner, and I was so surprised by his sudden words that I dropped my spoon into my soup bowl and was obliged to fish it out.

"What do you mean?" I questioned, attempting to feign innocence, but Erik was, as I have said before, far craftier than I imagined.

"Erik knows all of the events that happen beneath the roof of his opera house, he always has, and you know it is foolish to attempt to keep a secret from him here." He glared at me, the heat of his eyes pinning me to the spot, and I was so frightened that I could barely force myself to swallow against the lump that was forming in my throat. "Do you honestly think, silly child, that the Count would allow your young man to marry you, the wife of another man, and disgrace the de Chagny name? He is not coming back for you, Christine. He is not coming back."

I screamed at him, Father, oh how I yelled at him – he was a wretched liar, I knew he was not telling the truth, Raoul _would_ come back for me, he _loved_ me – I didn't even care that I had revealed my hope for escape then; I only wished that he would be quiet. I rushed from the room in tears and threw myself onto my bed and cried for hours. Erik left me alone that night, but the next night he entered my room after I had bathed, after I had scrubbed my body with that bar of soap and had erased every mark upon its surface, and quietly he stood at the foot of my bed, gazing at me. I was miserable and could not stop the tears from flowing.

"It pains Erik to see you cry so, Christine," he murmured as he towered above me, "for he knows how it is to love someone who does not care."

Oh Father, something inside me broke that night, and I reached for him – for the first time, but not the last – and he came willingly into my arms and tried to comfort me in his odd way, which only made me sob more. He was all I had in the world, Father, the only soul who would mourn my passing should I die, and I…at that moment I needed him more than anything. We cried together and held one another, two lost souls clinging to whatever solace we could find, and when he touched my hair and murmured words of devotion against my ear I was not repulsed by him.

It was all false, Father; it was built upon lies, but I was unaware of it…if only we had remained there forever, I believe I could have been happy.


	9. Her Liberty

You must think me quite foolish, Father, and yet for many weeks the idea that I might be expecting Erik's child never crossed my mind. I had never particularly desired to be a mother, even as a young girl, and in all of Erik's plans for a new, normal life, he had never once mentioned children as being part of that picture. I was entirely apathetic about the creature growing inside me, and Erik, when I told him that we would have another resident in our house soon enough, only remarked that he would convert his bedroom into a nursery if it would please me, for he barely used it, he slept so little.

I had supposed that Erik's desire for me would cool as my waistline thickened, as it seemed to me that that was the natural course of things, but if anything he sought me out more. One night, as Erik pushed aside the quilts on my bed before joining me, he poked my stomach with one long finger, the picture of seriousness, and I was tempted to laugh at him until he spoke. "Erik's mother never loved him," he whispered as he rubbed my belly with the palm of his hand, his amber eyes glowing in the darkness, and his voice held all of the misery in the world. "Will Christine love the baby if it looks like Erik?"

I could not answer him, Father, for I had not allowed myself to consider the possibility, and so I extended my arms in silent invitation. I did not fool him; I knew that I wouldn't, and with a great sigh he climbed under the blankets with me. Afterward, when he held me close and tried to muffle the sobs that wracked his thin body, for he always seemed ashamed of his tears, I tried to imagine him as a small child, no different from other children really, except for his horrible features, longing for a mother's love and never receiving it, and completely on impulse I leaned towards him and kissed his forehead. It was the first time that I had ever kissed him, Father, the first time anyone had ever pressed their lips against his face, and the noise he made – I shall never forget it! He sounded like a wounded animal and jerked away from me as if I had struck him, but after a moment he crept close to me again and asked if he couldn't please return my embrace with one of his own, for he had never kissed a woman before, not even his mother. His lips were soft upon my forehead and our tears mingled together, Father, and he confessed the next morning with a tremulous smile that he had never been happier.

It was the start of something entirely new in our marriage, and finally the trust that I had shattered when I had planned to run away with Raoul so very long again began to mend. I asked him if he would return my embroidery scissors, which he had taken from me after I had tried to kill myself by hitting my head against the walls of my bedroom, for he had feared that I would end my life with the sharp blades. He was wary at first, but when I explained that I wished to start creating a wardrobe for the baby, he mumbled something about how he was happy that I was taking an interest in the child. To be honest, Father, I just wished to have something productive to do that would keep my thoughts focused on anything other than Raoul's desertion, but he fetched the scissors for me at once. There were carriage rides at midnight, although the moon and fresh air did not hold the allure that they once had, for my spirit was crushed by Raoul's perceived betrayal, and the outside world meant little to me anymore, and eventually Erik once again gave me the key to the Rue Scribe gate and permitted me to come and go as I pleased, so long as I informed him of when I would return – for, as he told me quite coldly more than once, if I thought to disappear he would find me. He would not let me leave him.

Truthfully, Father, Erik had no reason to fear losing me – after all, where would I go? I had never been alone in the world and couldn't imagine starting now, especially with a child on the way, when I was scarcely grown myself, and so I learned to accept my fate like a wild pony that has been domesticated and never again looks past its stall doors. I only ventured into Paris occasionally, preferring the solitude of my existence with Erik– oh, I never would have believed that possible when I first agreed to become his wife! – and I didn't entertain any ideas of escape for a long while.

I suppose things could have continued like that forever, but Erik and I had both underestimated the bitterness that I harbored in my soul for my childhood companion – how I longed to confront him in person and rail at him, demand an explanation for his cruel desertion of me when he had promised that he would come back! Did he not understand what I had sacrificed to win his freedom? I had given up everything – my body, my life, my liberty – in the hopes that he would return to me, and yet he hadn't even tried to help me at all! How I cursed his name under my breath – oh Raoul, forgive me, forgive me, I should have known better than to think so badly of you, my poor friend – and one day, before I quite knew what I was doing, I found myself standing in front of one of Philippe's apartments, the one he kept near the Opera and where he often entertained La Sorelli, if the rumors were true.

The flat appeared to be utterly deserted, and I felt that something was very wrong. I stood there in front of the building for a good while, until I caught sight of a woman dressed in a maid's uniform. I asked if the Count had returned to the de Chagny estate in the country for the season, and she stared at me as if I had sprouted another head. "The Count is dead, discovered drowned on the shores of the lake beneath the Opera Garnier, and his brother has disappeared – it is rumored that he may have committed the foul deed, but I can scarcely believe it – he was such a gentle soul and he adored the Count, rest his soul. I fear something has happened to him as well." She dabbed her eyes with a soiled handkerchief and I fled, my heart beating so fast I thought it might leap from my chest, and I did not stop running until I reached the Opera.

The house across the lake was empty, for Erik had not yet returned from the market, and my mind spun so that I feared that I would surely go mad. I barely made it to the sink before becoming violently ill, and once my stomach was empty I collapsed onto the floor with my arms crossed over my midsection, rocking back and forth, although there was no comfort to be had. I did not want to believe that Raoul had been murdered, and yet what other explanation was there? Had Erik not told me that he had released him into the care of his brother, the same brother whose life I now knew had ended months ago? Why else had Raoul not kept his promise to me? He was not as cruel as I had unfairly believed him to be; he was a good man, and now I realized that only death could have kept him from me for this long.

I cannot understand it, Father, but some part of me imagined that there surely must be some other rational explanation to the matter. I did not want to believe that Raoul was gone forever – perhaps the maid had been mistaken; she had never mentioned Philippe by name after all, and had only referred to him by his title, and maybe I had accidentally stumbled upon some strange coincidence where another count had met his demise in the Opera – and I certainly didn't want to believe that Erik was still capable of such deception, such cruelty. It made no sense; I knew it, but I was desperate – I had done everything Erik had asked – I had been his living bride for weeks, months, I couldn't recall how long it had been. Why would he mislead me so? Why would he be so heartless to me when he claimed that he loved me? Philippe had sent Raoul away to keep him from me, that was it; he had ordered him to go to the North Pole as originally planned! And so I went into the music room, picked up my embroidery, and tried to pretend that everything was completely normal, but my hands betrayed me, for I found my fingers with the end of my needle more than I did the cloth, and I had to rip out more work than I accomplished.

When Erik entered the house, he seemed cheerful and his arms were full of the baskets of cheap flowers that he adored so, and although I had rehearsed what I would say, all of my thoughts flew out of my head, and I only managed to force four words past my trembling lips as I clutched my needlework to my chest. "Count Philippe is dead."

Oh how I longed for him to deny that he had done anything underhanded to Raoul, Father, and I truly think that I would have believed him had he spun some lie that was even remotely feasible, but all the confirmation of my worst possible thoughts was written upon his hideous features. Raoul was dead, he was dead, he was dead, and Erik had killed him; that is why he had not come for me! That is why Erik had allowed me to roam the streets of Paris without him by my side, and that is why he had been so sure that Raoul was no longer a threat…oh Father, I wish that I had died on the spot!

Erik fell to his knees before me and pressed his ugly face against the hem of my dress as he had so often done, and I felt as if my entire body had gone numb from shock. The hands that now twisted the fabric of my skirt, the hands that had caressed me in the darkness, the hands that coaxed the sweetest music I had ever heard from any violin, were the same that had ended Raoul's life! "Erik loves you so much, so very much, he cannot live without you, he could not let you go, not after you had been his living bride, and your young man loved you so dearly that he would not allow you to stay here with Erik, he would have taken you away, he would have come for you and the baby and stolen you from Erik, and Erik could not allow that to happen! It was quick, Erik was merciful, he swears, he could not let your little chap go, not after he had a living wife…"

On and on he babbled his explanation, but I was long past hearing his words – he had lied to me, he had dashed all of my hopes, he had allowed me to think that Raoul, my poor dear Raoul, had deserted me without a word or even a thank you – oh Father, it was horrible, and yet he kept chattering about how he loved me! He loved me! He loved me and yet he had murdered all that I held dear in the world, and I gagged as I remembered all that he had done to me, all that I had _allowed_ him to do…it was vile!

I shouted at him, begging him to be quiet, but he wouldn't listen to me, Father; he kept repeating the same phrases over and over, telling me how devoted he was to me, how great his love was, and I couldn't bear it any longer! He wouldn't be silent, oh why wouldn't he be quiet? I beat my fist against his back and his shoulders shook – I imagine now that he was crying, Father, but at the time I believed that he was laughing at me, mocking my foolishness and the trust I had placed in him – and I pounded my fists against his back, his shoulders, his lying throat! He collapsed at my feet, clutching his neck where I had struck him and making a strange wheezing noise, and I was surprised, for I knew that I was small and weak, and surely my ineffective punches couldn't have such an effect on him.

I dropped to my knees beside him, and when he moved blood poured from a gaping wound in his throat, spraying the carpet and my dress, and it was only then that I realized that I still held my embroidery scissors in my hand! I flung them across the room with a shriek but it was too late, oh Father, it was too late, we were both covered in blood and he was making terrible sounds…I didn't mean to hurt him, not like that, I didn't mean to kill him, I swear upon my immortal soul, but within a minute or two he was silent, and though I screamed until my throat was raw, he did not move.


	10. Marguerite

I stayed with my husband for nearly three days, Father, but he did not move at all, not even when I kissed his forehead, not even when I pressed my lips against his for the first and last time. He was dead, and I had killed him…oh Father, I did not mean to do it, I swear upon my soul that I had not intended to murder him! How I would have welcomed his wrath then, Father, for it did not frighten me nearly as much as his cold, still body curled upon the floor, his skeletal hand still clutching his throat – he could have wrapped those fingers around my own neck, and I would not have complained or resisted, Father, for at least he would not be dead by my own hands!

After a while I realized that my vigil was pointless — Erik was truly gone, and it was entirely my fault, and I rose unsteadily to gaze at him. I cried over his body, Father, but whether it was for me or him or even the child I cannot say, only that I had never felt so alone in my entire life. Finally I had the freedom I had coveted for so long, and yet what did it mean? Both Erik and Raoul were dead; I had no one in the world who cared for me and nowhere to go. I retreated to my bedroom, but there was no solace there, for the rows of paper birds that Erik had crafted for me seemed to accuse me of my great crime, and everywhere I looked I imagined I could see him hiding in the shadows, just out of my sight.

I gathered the quilts from my bed and took them to the music room, where I draped them over Erik, for I could not leave him that way, before placing his manuscripts beside him. It was the only thing I could do for him now, Father, and yet it seemed so little. I then changed from my bloodstained dress into something clean, washed my hands, combed my hair, and said goodbye to everything – my prison, which did not seem so horrible now, and my jailer, whom I no longer saw as so cruel, for all of my anger had seeped from me just as Erik's blood had from his fatal wound.

And so I left the house beyond the lake for the final time this morning, Father, knowing that I would not, could not, return. I spent hours wandering the streets of Paris, but there is no comfort to be found in the aboveground world either, Father…there is nothing left for me here, nothing at all. Finally I stumbled upon this church and thought that I might find some consolation inside its walls, for I was raised in the Church as a young girl and used to find some measure of solace in God before my father died, and that perhaps if I told you everything, I could be pardoned. So I have confessed my sins to you, Father – I have been a wretched person, I have lied and schemed and bound myself to an unbeliever in a marriage that is not recognized by the Church, and I have murdered him, however unwittingly, and I was cruel to him, and all the while I fancied myself to be better than him! He was nothing more than a dog to me, a madman who murdered on a whim, and yet what am I? At least he killed because he loved, Father, while I have murdered because I am a selfish child!

You do not understand, you cannot understand; I must confess two more things to you Father, if you are not completely horrified by my crimes by now, for my sins are far greater than I have said. I have killed my husband, yes, but that was by accident, I hope you can see that, but today I have murdered two other people with intent, for before I left Erik's house I went into his laboratory – oh he was a clever man, Father, a genius some would say, and he fancied himself as a scientist of some sort. For the longest time he had locked its door and forbade me to enter, for he was rightly afraid that I would steal one of his potions and kill myself, but after I had won his trust he showed me the little vials and glasses and explained what each one did. He was so proud of himself and wished to share his knowledge with me, and I tucked the information away inside my mind. And today, Father, I stole two little vials of poison – one for me and one for the baby – and concealed them in my reticule, and just now I have drunk their contents.

No, no, Father please, don't leave me – it's too late; there is nothing you can do, I have drunk the poison and no one can help me now, not even the most skilled doctor in all of Paris. Please, will you come here and open the door so I may see you? I am afraid to die, Father, but I think it will be more bearable if you are with me.

Your hands are warm, Father; it has been so long since I have held a man's hands that are not cold as ice, and I can tell by your eyes that you are kind. Marguerite killed her child, if you remember the opera, and still the angels bore her to heaven, yet I know that I will not share her fate. Oh my poor baby; it did not have a choice at all, it never had a chance, to have a monster and murderess as parents! And still I call him monster! That isn't fair, it isn't fair of me at all, for I have killed my child, someone who is completely innocent, never asking to be created, never asking to be brought into my life at all, whereas at least Raoul knew the risks and took them.

My entire existence has been worthless, and I regret it all now. Raoul loved me, but I played with his emotions, even though I did return his affection, for I was young and foolish – he adored me so much and died because he could not abandon me to my fate, yet I believed him to be a cad of the most vicious sort. And then there was Erik, who loved me to distraction – it was not his fault that he was mad; he was driven to it by the world, and by me – but I was cold to him for the longest time, and in the end he also died because he loved me. And then the baby…does not every child look at its mother with the purest affection in the world? Even Erik loved his mother, and she could not stomach to look at him without his mask. Oh Father, I am the most useless person who has ever lived, and I cannot tell you why anyone ever loved me, for I see nothing in myself that was ever worthy of such devotion. I am worse than Erik, so much worse than he ever was, for he killed those he hated while I have only killed those who loved me.

Please, Father, may I rest my head upon your lap? When I was a little girl I would rest upon my papa's lap when he told me stories, stories of the Angel of Music – oh I wish that I had never heard such tales now! I am so tired; I can barely keep my eyes open, and yet when I close them I can only see the faces of those who died because of me – one beautiful, one hideous, one that I have never seen on this earth and never will – and they all accuse me. I never meant to hurt any of them, truly I didn't…pray for me, Father, that God will be more merciful to me than I ever was to those who had the misfortune of caring for me.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Big thank yous to my beta, Jennyfair, who has given me numerous ideas and has fixed many verb tenses, and also to everyone who has read this story. The idea came to me in a dream, like most of my story ideas do, and I decided to run with it. I have always believed for some reason that Erik lied to the Persian about not killing Philippe, and if he was capable of lying about that, what else did he lie about? This was a little idea about what might have happened after Leroux's tale ended._


End file.
